


One for the Books

by wordsbymeganmichael



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, F/M, Modern AU, TA Emma, grad student Killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsbymeganmichael/pseuds/wordsbymeganmichael
Summary: Killian Jones is a grad student who works for the Storybrooke University Library. He's searching for some lost books, last checked out by the elusive Teaching Assistant Emma Swan -- and when he goes to find them, he finds a lot more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 91





	One for the Books

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on something that kind of happened to me (I was the Henry of the situation) and my mind took it as a prompt and ran with it

to: eswan@storybrookeu.edu

from: kjones@storybrookeu.edu

August 20 10:14am

_ Dear Miss Swan,  _

_ I hope this email finds you well. My name is Killian Jones, and I am the new records and collections graduate assistant for the Storybrooke University Library. I am writing to you today because, according to our records, there are quite a few volumes from our library that you have borrowed and never returned. You will, of course, not be fined for these items; I am simply reaching out to make sure that they are still in your possession, and to ask that you kindly bring them to the library to return or renew as necessary. The list of items is as follows:  _

_ Freud, Sigmund.  _ The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud,  _ 1953, Volume I. _

_ Freud, Sigmund.  _ The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud,  _ 1953, Volume IV. _

_ Freud, Sigmund.  _ The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud,  _ 1953, Volume VII. _

_ Freud, Sigmund.  _ The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud,  _ 1953, Volume X. _

_ Freud, Sigmund.  _ The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud,  _ 1953, Volume XXI. _

_ Freud, Sigmund.  _ The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud,  _ 1953, Volume XXIII. _

_ Leuven University Press,  _ Sexuality and Psychoanalysis: Philosophical Criticisms _ , 2010.  _

_ Moore, Burness E.  _ Psychoanalysis: The Major Concepts,  _ 1995\.  _

_ If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out to me in any of the ways listed below.  _

_ Thank you,  _

_ Killian Jones,  _

_ Records and Collections, Storybrooke University  _

_ Gold Library, rm. 120A // 545-1212 _

  
  


to: eswan@storybrookeu.edu

from: kjones@storybrookeu.edu

September 23 2:46 pm

_ Dear Miss Swan,  _

_ I hope the first few weeks of the semester have gone well for you. I am following up with my previous email, where I sent a list of volumes from our university library that have been checked out under your name. We now have a graduate student writing on psychoanalysis and he is hoping to utilize a few of the volumes you have checked out over the next few weeks. If you would be able to return these items to the library at your earliest convenience, we would greatly appreciate it; even if they have been misplaced, we would still like for you to come and fill out the paperwork so this student can request them from another library. I am in my office every day from 8-3 for you to do this, or I could send you the form for you to print and return. Again, if you have any questions, please reach out.  _

_ Thank you,  _

_ Killian Jones _

_ Records and Collections, Storybrooke University  _

_ Gold Library, rm. 120A // 545-1212 _

  
  


to: eswan@storybrookeu.edu

from: kjones@storybrookeu.edu

September 29 8:36 am

_ Miss Swan,  _

_ I am writing once again to inquire about the Freud volumes checked out of the library under your name. Since there is a graduate student waiting for them, and since we are unable to request copies from another library until they are officially marked as missing, I would appreciate your response in regards to these items. If it would be easiest for you, I will gladly come to your office to retrieve them.  _

_ Killian Jones _

_ Records and Collections, Storybrooke University  _

_ Gold Library, rm. 120A // 545-1212 _

  
  


Killian slams his laptop shut with a huff, then runs his fingers through his hair. “This damned psychology professor,” he mumbles, though he realizes when he hears Dr. French’s laugh coming from her office that the door between them is wide open.

Oops. 

“She’s not a professor, you know."

"Pardon?" he asks, mostly because the humming of his mind was much louder than his advisor's comment.

"Emma Swan," Belle says, and Killian leans back in his chair so he can see her. "She's not a professor. She's a TA for Dr. Hopper."

"A TA should still know to respond to emails and return books to the library."

Belle laughs again. "Well, you're not wrong."

"So what do you suggest our next move is?"

Belle pushes her chair away from her desk and steps out into the open area where Killian's desk resides, then leans against the doorframe. "If we didn't have a grad student looking for them, I’d say just let it go. But for the sake of Mr. Mills, might I suggest visiting her office during her posted office hours?” 

This is just about the very last thing Killian wants to do, despite offering to pick the books up in his last email. If she wasn't watching him, if she was still sitting in her office, he would have held his head in his hands, wishing for any other option. Six years in the naval reserve he can handle, but trying to get books from enthusiastic academics? He does a much better job with his head buried behind the computer screen, politely (or, if the case requires, slightly passive-aggressively) asking them to return books or to come talk to Belle.

But he knows he can't get out of this one, not when there's a bright lad like Henry Mills relying on him. “When? It’s been a month since the first email, and almost a week since the second.” 

Belle squints her eyes to look at the calendar hanging behind him. “Today is what, Tuesday? If she doesn’t get back to you by Monday, I would go to her first office hours of the week. Those usually have fewer students.” 

He just nods, but when she returns to her office, he  _ does  _ hide his face in his hands. 

The days pass like calendar pages flying off, cartoonishly, all with no response from the elusive Emma Swan. Every time he hears the  _ ping _ of his email notification, he hopes it is a response from her, stopping him from the embarrassment he knows will ensue on Monday morning, at her 10:00 office hour. 

But alas, Monday comes with no response from her, and he tries to hold his head high and he knocks on the door to her office. 

He doesn’t know what he expects to find on the other side of her door, but the bright green eyes and high golden ponytail is certainly not it. He had a whole speech in his head, practiced while driving and in the shower,  _ demanding _ the Freud volumes back for the sake of Mr. Mills — but the face that greets him erases all of his carefully-practiced words in one fell swoop. 

Absolutely speechless. 

A few moments pass without him uttering a word, after which she raises a single, perfect eyebrow at him. “Can I help you?” 

He clears his throat, trying to put some of the confidence back in his posture — and trying to slow the quickening pace of his heart, even as he feels it in his throat. “Yes. Uh, hi. You don't know me, but I’m Killian Jones, from the—” 

She cuts him off with a breath of a laugh and a hand held up between them. “You’re from the library.” It's not a question, but he nods anyway. “You’re here for Freud.” 

His confidence deflates. “Uh, yeah,” he mutters. 

She cocks her head to the side. "You're older than I expected." 

Now he is dumbstruck once again. Absolutely speechless, save the weak "Pardon?" that comes out as barely more than an exhale. 

But she ignores him, turning away from him, though she leaves the door to her office wide open behind her, so he steps through it and into her small space. The entire room is lined with bookshelves save the space that her small desk takes up and the two filing cabinets beside it. 

He realizes in this moment, watching her scan her shelves for the missing items, why he is suddenly so tongue-tied, why his practiced speech flew out the metaphoric window the moment she opened her office door: she's  _ beautiful _ , without a doubt the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen, from her shining emerald eyes to the confidence that seems to exude from her very being, attractive in ways beyond the physical, ways that he can not even begin to explain. 

"I really appreciate your coming all the way across campus to find these," she says, starting to pull books off one of the higher shelves. "I've been out the past two weeks at a couple conferences, and I forwarded the list of items to a friend of mine in hopes that he could come and pick them up, but it appears he's as bad at doing favors as he is in bed." 

Killian feels the tips of his ears turning red even as she immediately spins on her heel, covering her face with her free hand. 

"Oh my god," she mutters. "I'm — I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to say that out loud." 

Killian does the only thing his body allows him to and  _ laughs _ , though every neuron in his brain  _ screams  _ at him to stop. 

Thankfully, she joins in, and for a moment, he can swear that her smile actually brightens her dark office, that her laugh brightens his dark life. 

"Neal Cassidy, ladies and gentlemen," she says between laughs, which only causes them to laugh harder. "Altogether grossly incompetent." 

Killian is glad he's never heard of this man before; he's not sure how he would have handled it if he had. 

"Anyway," she says after taking a few deep breaths to try to calm herself. She turns back to the bookshelf to add a few more items to the pile in her arm, but one of them almost falls to the ground. It happens in a flash, really: Killian rushes to try to catch it, though the pile in her arms also begins to topple, and his ankle catches hers as she tries to stop the books from falling — and just like that, they're both on the floor, surrounded by volumes of  _ Freud's Complete Works, Standard Edition _ . 

"Sorry," he mumbles, reaching towards the book that is closest to him only to find that it's one titled  _ Sexuality and Psychoanalysis. _

The irony of it doesn't stop his embarrassment from reddening his cheeks once more. 

"What the hell is happening in here?" another voice asks, and they both realize there's someone standing in the doorway to her office. "Ems, who is this guy?" 

"Oh my god," Emma mutters, moving onto her knees, and he uses the bookshelf to quickly pull himself up so he can help her to her feet. "What do you want, Neal?" she asks, avoiding his question entirely. 

_ Neal _ ? Killian wonders if it's the same Neal she mentioned before, but he pushes the thought away when he finds himself wondering just how good in bed this man can be by the looks of him. 

(A bit Freudian? He would say so.)

"I just wanted to bring you some coffee," he says, a hint of anger in his voice as he holds up one of the to-go cups he is holding. "Only to find you on the floor of your office with some guy." 

Killian is suddenly overcome with an unexplainable anger, something he knows he has been trained to repress — but here, he feels incapable. 

Thankfully, Emma speaks first, crossing her arms over her chest, and he takes the time she uses to speak to calm himself, seeing that she is fully capable of handling her own battles. "I've told you  _ so many times _ , Neal, I don't even drink coffee. And not that I have to explain myself to you, but it was an accident. I dropped some books and…” She falters, realizing she never learned his name, but continues past it: “... he was just helping me pick them up, which wouldn't have been necessary had you come to my office last week and taken them to the library like I asked." 

( _ That answers that question, _ he thinks; then,  _ My God, I have to get out of here. _ )

"I really should go," Killian mutters, his anger replaced with embarrassment, and he focuses his energy on picking up the books from the floor, trying to wish the obvious signs of embarrassment off of his face. 

"Yeah, you should," Neal spits. 

Killian would swear, looking back on this moment, that he could  _ feel  _ Emma's anger in this moment, swelling like a balloon and filling her small office, almost radiating off of her. 

"No, Neal," she says, crossing the space between herself and the door before pushing her hands against his chest and expelling him into the hallway. "You should leave." 

And then she slams the door in his face. 

A beat passes, Killian focused on the rise and fall of Emma's shoulders, though she is still facing the door. When she turns around, there is a smile plastered across her face, but he also notices the shine of held-back tears in her eyes. 

"Sorry," she mumbles, and Killian struggles to find a way to change the subject to anything except what he just witnessed, but finds himself unable to speak once more. "It's just — he's…" She takes a breath, sitting down on the extra chair opposite the one behind her desk, and she hangs her head. "This whole thing was a mistake, really." For a moment, Killian thinks she's talking about him, his stomach turning violently with the thought that something he did caused this goddess this much pain — but then she continues. "I never should have… when I met him at the bar, I didn't even think that he could work at the university, even if he works for maintenance. I'm usually much smarter than that, I swear, but it was the beginning of summer and most of the students were gone and I finally had some free time to myself, so I just wanted to—" 

She turns her eyes up at him, the moisture that's filled them threatening to run down her cheeks, but he's in the seat across from her in an instant, his own hand reaching out to cover hers. He's terrified, afraid that he's made the wrong move — that he's no different than the asshole she just had to kick out of her office. 

But then she smiles. 

"You don't have to tell me this if you don't want to," he says, the words as soft and honest as he is able to make them. 

He only hopes it's enough. 

She nods, pulling her hand away from his to wipe the bottom of her eyelids, and the last thing he expects is for her to return her hand to his — but that's exactly what she does, and he can swear his heart does a little happy dance against his ribs. "Oh my god, this is so embarrassing," she says softy, smiling down at where their hands are touching on the desk. Killian shakes his head in disagreement, but she doesn't see it, shaking away another soft, embarrassed smile. "And Freud thought the women he saw were crazy." 

For what feels like the millionth time since he knocked on the door to her office mere minutes ago, he has absolutely no clue how to read her. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to go?" he asks, though he immediately regrets it, watching her face fall. 

"If that's what you want…" she says, letting her words fade before finishing the thought. 

_ No _ , he realizes, and the thought rejuvenates him; he sits up straighter, he can feel his blood flow faster, can feel his heart pound with a little more confidence. 

_ (Christ, Jones, heartbeats don't have confidence.)  _

"That's not what I want." 

"Good," she whispers, the smile returning to her face. “Because he might — knowing him, he’ll probably come back, and I don’t really want to deal with that quite yet.” 

“Well, I’ll just stay here until you feel comfortable again.” 

“Thanks.” 

A beat passes, and Killian realizes for the first time just how awkward this whole situation is. Thankfully, Emma seems to be much better at small talk than he is: 

“So, tell me something about yourself…” She trails off again, and this time, Killian offers her his name. 

“Killian. Jones.” She nods, a soft smile spreading across her face, and he continues. “But I’m, uh, just starting the lib sci grad program, and I came here since my brother knows Belle pretty well.” 

“If you don’t mind my asking,” she mumbles, looking up from the desk that sits between them. “You look a little old for a first-year grad student.” 

“That’s not technically a question, love,” he jokes. “But yeah, you’re right. I’m not technically what they call a  _ traditional _ student. I got my bachelor’s all over the world in the naval reserves, but decided to settle down for my masters.” 

She huffs out a laugh. “In Storybrooke?” 

“There’s a base not too far from here where my brother works. I was done with traveling, done with the hustle and bustle of cities, and this just seemed like the perfect place for me to be.” She hums. “What about you, Swan?” 

She shrugs, and for a moment, Killian thinks this is going to be her only response. The silence of the room becomes deafening for one — two — three beats of his heart, but then she opens her mouth to speak. “I never had any roots, and I just wound up in Storybrooke. College was the first time I was able to make decisions for myself, and I just… Stuck around, I guess. I changed my major three times, got two master’s degrees, and I think Archie — I mean, Dr. Hopper’s going to keep me here once I get my PhD.” She sighs. “Sorry, that was a lot.” 

“Well, I mean, we are stuck here.” 

She laughs, but another silence fills the small office. This one lasts longer than the last, Emma even going so far as to chew on the cuticle of her thumb, her gaze traveling around the room instead of looking at him. 

Killian, for some reason, can only think of the man that they’re in this situation because of —  _ Neal _ . He knows that different people are attracted to different things, and he… Well, with no better way to think of it, he could think of nothing about the man they saw that was even slightly attractive. Sandy brown hair, average build, average… Average everything, really. 

“Can I ask you something?” he says, not even meaning to break the silence around them. 

She hums, though her attention still seems to be outside the small window behind him. 

“Why him?” 

“What?” She sounds angry, but also something else. Killian kind of believes it’s humored. He  _ hopes  _ it’s humored. 

“That guy. Neal? He’s — well, not to be crass, love, but he seems like he’s kind of a bastard.” 

She laughs. Not just a huff, not just a breath, but a real, straight-from-the-belly laugh. And it lasts for a while, longer than Killian feels like it should have, though he’s certainly not complaining. It’s a beautiful sound, a lovely sound, a sound that (almost literally) brings light to his life. Nothing bad can happen when that sound is around him. 

_ (Christ, Killian, pull yourself together.)  _

“Damned if I know.” 

“Well, what do you look for in a guy?” he asks, not even meaning for it to sound as… well, as desperate as he realizes it does. 

“Why?” she laughs. “Are you interested?” 

_ Shit.  _ He already feels the tips of his ears reddening, his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment that he has no defense against. "Uh, I mean—" he tries, and he could swear that his chest is radiating heat. "That's not — I didn't—" he stammers, and she laughs again. Sure, he's an absolute idiot, no way to hide his embarrassment from the beautiful woman sitting across the desk from him, but just hearing the sound of her laugh again makes him feel better, even if it is at his own expense. 

"Relax," she says, reaching out to touch his hand again, and she offers him a soft smile. "Besides, there really isn't any rhyme or reason to it anyway." He has just started to relax, his heart pounding a little lighter and his body temperature returning to a normal number, when she asks, "Why, what about you, Jones? What do you look for in a woman?"

_ Beautiful, brilliant blonde goddesses like yourself _ , he thinks. 

For what he could swear is the longest moment of his life, he's unsure of whether he  _ only  _ thought it or not. 

And then, she's leaning across the desk, her hand wrapping around the back of his neck to pull his lips to meet hers. 

It's far from his first kiss; he's been in the company of enough women to know his way around one. But for some reason, this moment, this woman in particular, catches him off-guard, and he is only able to focus on the soft warmth of her, the feel of her lips against his and her hand on the back of his neck, her fingers sliding up into the longer hair at the base of his neck. He's frozen, unable to respond in any way beyond simply opening his lips slightly to her — 

Until he pulls away, cursing himself even as he does it, especially once he sees the terror in her shining green eyes, so obviously wondering if she has done something wrong. 

"I, uh… thanks," he stutters, running his fingers through his hair as he jumps up from her desk chair. "I, uh, I really have to go." 

As quickly as he is able, he removes himself from her office, though he shows enough self-restraint to not take off down the hallway at a full sprint even though it is what every bone in his body wants him to do. 

It’s not until he’s out of the building that he takes a moment to slow down and really realize what he has just done, ifsting his hair with both of his hands. 

“Oh, Killian, you absolute idiot!” 

He wants to scream, and if he weren’t surrounded by undergrads who he knows are already judging him, he just might. 

An  _ idiot.  _ An absolute  _ dunce.  _ Why did it have to be this week that Liam is training in Rhode Island? Why  _ now _ , when the thing Killian needs the most is advice from his older brother? 

Okay, not  _ most _ ; the thing he needs most is to go back a mere minute and not run away from the girl who kissed him. 

But he can’t do that. And even just walking back up to her office would be too embarrassing, too much for him. So he does the only thing he  _ can  _ do, and continues down the sidewalk and back to the library. 

(It’s not until he’s back in his office, with Belle eyeing him questionably, that he realizes he came back empty-handed.)

She spends most of the afternoon wondering what to do. She knows she acted out of turn, knows she made a mistake, but there was just something about him, not an innocence, per se, but something… different. Something that sets him apart from most, if not all, of the men she finds herself in the company of. 

For one, he didn’t seem like a total idiot, unlike the majority of men whose beds she tended to find herself in. Even in the little time she spent with him, she could tell that he was different, and she  _ liked  _ it. She liked that he saw her as a person, with a brain and a personality, and not just as body parts, not just as a vessel that could provide pleasure. Even the men she meets at conferences have all been assholes, men like Walsh ___ who feignd interest in her presentation just to come waltzing up to her afterward and ask her to dinner — which he just talked through, barely giving her a chance to speak. 

But Killian, from what she could tell, is nothing like Walsh. Or like Neal, who keeps ignoring her refusals and turning up at her office. (She’s glad she went back to his apartment and not the other way around, because she fears what he may have done had he known where she lived.) 

Killian, who came all the way across campus to retrieve books from her office, agreed to stay to keep her company, and then she  _ kissed.  _ Like an idiot. She saw the way he got flustered when she started to flirt with him and it got to her. Was it an overreaction? Maybe. But there were definitely alternatives to taking that sort of action against someone whose shyness was apparent all morning. 

She gets nothing done for the rest of the day. The piles of ungraded papers that cover her desk taunt her, but every time she picks up her pen and starts to read, her mind begins to wander immediately — to Killian, to his response to her. Wondering if she made a mistake that she can never fix. Wondering if he is sitting in his office, unable to work, only able to think about her. (Maybe even  _ hoping _ for this one?) 

The screensaver on her desktop tells her it’s 2:23. Literal hours have passed since Killian left, and she has accomplished nothing. 

Tapping her password out on the keyboard, she pulls up her university email and types his name in the search box, hoping that one of his previous emails answers her question. She vaguely remembers seeing the hours he’s in his office in one of them, she just needs to figure out which one. 

_ Bingo.  _

“8-3,” she says to her empty office. She should stay, should at least try to accomplish something after being gone for almost two weeks, but she knows it is useless. So she grabs her red leather jacket off the back of her chair, locks her office door behind her, and makes her way out of the building. 

(When she gets to the steps, she realizes she has left the library books behind, just as Killian had when he left earlier that day. With a huff, she turns around, stuffs them in one of her tote bags, and leaves her office once more.) 

Pushing through the library doors, she realizes that she’s been at this university for upwards of ten years, and never learned where the Records and Collections Office is. She knows Killian included his office number in his signature, but finding that would take more time than she wants to spend, so she approaches the desk. 

“Can I help you?” The student who sits behind the desk catches her attention for a moment, a tall male, probably in his mid-20’s, with blond hair with a pink tinge to it, wearing a dark purple satin shirt and matching purple eyeliner in perfect, identical wings. His name tag reads  _ Tyler.  _

“Uh, yeah,” she says, hoisting the canvas bag higher on her shoulder. “I’m looking for the Records and Collections Office?” 

He offers her a smile. “Sure! Room 120. Up the stairs, to the left, all the way down.” 

She returns his smile, doing her best not to just run off to find what she came here for. “Thanks.” 

The room that houses the main collection seems much larger than the open area that fills the same space the floor below it, and with every shelf she passes, she feels like three more come into view. But, finally, a row of doors come into view, with the words “RECORDS AND COLLECTIONS” hanging on the wall above them. 

  1. 119\. 121. 



_ Didn’t Tyler say 120? _

She tries 121, knocking softly though the door is wide open. She is greeted by a younger girl, most likely an undergrad, with one side of her head shaved and the rest of it pulled into a braid that hangs over her shoulder. “What can I do for you?” 

“Uh, I’m looking for Killian Jones? I thought they said it wa room 120, but—” 

“Yeah, they can’t seem to number rooms in a way that makes sense around here. You have to go  _ through  _ room 119 to find Killian and Dr. French. I don't think Zoe's in her office, so room 119 should be empty." 

"Thanks." 

Room 119 is, in fact, empty, but the door inside, the one with Killian's name on it, is closed. 

She takes a deep breath, hoisting the bag of books up again, and knocks on the door. She wonders if this is how Killian felt knocking on her door that morning, with her heart pounding in her throat.  _ Probably not _ , she tells herself, breathing out a laugh to try to calm her nerves. 

"Come in!" his voice calls, and she can feel her heartbeat in every cell of her body. 

_ What the hell, Emma.  _

But when she grabs the door knob, she realizes that at least part of her nervousness is valid, because for all the time she spent sitting in her office thinking about their earlier interaction, she has given zero thought to what she's going to say to the man on the other side of the door. 

_ Too late now _ . 

Deep breath. 

And she opens the door. 

He looks as flustered as she feels, with his hair standing in all directions, as if he's been tugging at it and running his fingers through it. The thin-framed glasses perched on his nose just add to the ensemble, his bright blue eyes already wide through them, and they only widen more when he sees her standing in the doorway. 

"Hey." 

He blinks. Then again, as if trying to convince himself that she's really there. That may be exactly what he's doing. "Swan," he breathes, one corner of his lips ticking up in a smile. "Hi."

She holds up the bag full of books, offering him a small smile. "I think you're looking for these." 

He returns the smile, but it disappears after just a moment. "Well, I thank you, love, but you didn't have to bring them all this way." 

"It was the least I could do after all the trouble someone went through to pick them up this morning." 

"You could have dropped them off downstairs." 

It's now that she realizes that just because she wanted to see him again, he doesn't necessarily feel the same way, and that could explain his cold responses to her. 

She lets her smile fall. "I could have."

"Why didn't you?" The question is simple enough, straight and to the point. 

"Christ, Killian," she huffs, letting her anger get the best of her. "I didn't come here to return the books."

"Then why did you come?" 

"I wanted to apologize," she says, dropping the bag of books on his desk — and when she opens her mouth to speak again, the words tumble out like a waterfall, unable to be stopped. "I could tell I made you uncomfortable and I've been sitting in my office all day, wishing I did something differently, but since I can't go back, I decided the least I could do to make up for it was to bring you these books and ask you if you wanted to go to dinner with me, but  _ obviously  _ you and I aren't on the same page, so—" She shrugs, throwing her arms in the air, and turns away from his desk. 

There's a shuffle from behind her, but it's not until he says, "Yes! Yes, okay," that she turns back around, realizing that he's stood up. 

"What?" 

"Dinner. With — with you," he stammers. "That's — I want that." 

Again, she just says, "What?" but this time it's paired with the beginnings of a smile. 

"I've been thinking about what happened all day. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, even with everything I was supposed to be doing." 

She takes another step towards him, her smile growing. Finally, he returns it with one of his own. "Yeah?" 

"Aye." 

Rocking back on her heels, she looks down at her watch. "It's only 3:00." 

He laughs, already seeming much more relaxed than he has been since she opened the door to his office. "I suppose it is.” 

Their gazes meet for a moment. She raises her eyebrow. He clicks his tongue. 

“I, uh, didn’t really eat lunch,” she says with a smile. 

“Ah,” he replies, returning her smile as he scratches the back of his ear. “You see, I was also a little distracted, but I am almost off the clock.” 

“Good,” she whispers, setting herself in the seat next to his door. “I’ll just wait.” 

He nods, sitting back down in his office chair. He is able to check her books in, then sends an email to Henry Mills to tell him he can come get the books whenever — but he is more distracted by having her in his office than he was all day when she was just on his mind. After every few words, his attention leaves the computer screen and travels to where she is sitting, scrolling on her cell phone. 

And every time he looks at her, he smiles. 

It’s only a few minutes before he logs off his computer, accidentally startling her when he pushes his chair away from the desk. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling his jacket on over his sweater. “I’m ready now, though.” 

Their first pizza date quickly becomes a regular occurence, sharing lunches in their offices on days they don’t go off campus. It’s two weeks before Killian is bothered they haven’t been on a “proper date,” and he picks her up from her apartment with flowers, which she keeps in a vase in her office. 

But, most importantly, she never forgets to return a library book again — especially the next year, when she and Killian move into a small house near the campus. 

Together. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
